LITTLE GARDENS 



zinnias, marigolds, nasturtiums, Canterbury 

 bells, foxgloves, pansles, dahlias, asters and 

 chrysanthemums; and where the flowers as- 

 sembled thickest, In the farther left corner, I 

 would place my statue — an ancient bronze with 

 a fine patina. In which the hue soberly yet richly 

 varied through yellow green to purplish olive, 

 but If I could not have my bronze, then a figure 

 in marble, solid and restful in attitude, a pagan 

 goddess or a Christian saint: no hurlers of 

 spears, or wrestlers, or boxers, or martyrs, or 

 dying soldiers, but a figure that stood Its ground 

 with the firmness of a caryatid. And It should 

 not be the prettlness of yesterday, freshly pol- 

 ished in an Italian studio-shop, but an old piece 

 from Pentellcus, its snow softened to cream, Its 

 hard shinlness gone, its neat chiseling of dra- 

 peries blunted by contact with a sometime admir- 

 ing, sometime forgetful world. At the opposite 

 end of the cross-walk would be an easy bench, 

 not an affair of roots glued over a framework of 

 carpentry, the product of a town factory, but an 

 honestly fashioned seat of hewn timber, circling 

 or half circling the tree trunk, if the tree were 

 big enough to justify and support It. One thing 

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